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162
On the approaching Congress of Cambray.
Written in the Year 1721.
Ye Patriots of the World, whose Cares combin'd,
Consult the publick Welfare of Mankind,
One Moment let the crowding Kingdoms wait,
And Europe in suspence attend her Fate,
Which turns on Your great Councils; nor refuse
To hear the Strains of the Prophetick Muse;
Who sees those Councils with a gen'rous Care
Heal the wide Wounds, and calm the Rage of War;
She sees new Verdure all the Plain o'erspread,
Where the Fight burn'd, and where the Battle bled.
The Fields of Death a softer Scene disclose,
And Ceres smiles, where Iron Harvests rose.
The bleating Flocks along the Bastion pass,
And from the awful Ruins crop the Grass.
Freed from his Fears, each unmolested Swain,
In peaceful Furrows cuts the fatal Plain;
Turns the high Bulwark, and aspiring Mound,
And sees the Camp with all the Seasons crown'd.
Beneath each Clod bright burnish'd Arms appear;
Each Furrow glitters with the Pride of War;
The Fields resound and tinkle as they break,
And the keen Faulchion rings against the Rake;
At rest beneath the hanging Ramparts laid,
He sings securely in the dreadful Shade.
Consult the publick Welfare of Mankind,
One Moment let the crowding Kingdoms wait,
And Europe in suspence attend her Fate,
Which turns on Your great Councils; nor refuse
To hear the Strains of the Prophetick Muse;
Who sees those Councils with a gen'rous Care
Heal the wide Wounds, and calm the Rage of War;
163
Where the Fight burn'd, and where the Battle bled.
The Fields of Death a softer Scene disclose,
And Ceres smiles, where Iron Harvests rose.
The bleating Flocks along the Bastion pass,
And from the awful Ruins crop the Grass.
Freed from his Fears, each unmolested Swain,
In peaceful Furrows cuts the fatal Plain;
Turns the high Bulwark, and aspiring Mound,
And sees the Camp with all the Seasons crown'd.
Beneath each Clod bright burnish'd Arms appear;
Each Furrow glitters with the Pride of War;
The Fields resound and tinkle as they break,
And the keen Faulchion rings against the Rake;
At rest beneath the hanging Ramparts laid,
He sings securely in the dreadful Shade.
164
Hark!—o'er the Seas, the British Lions roar
Their Monarch's Fame to every distant Shore:
Swift on their Canvass Wings his Navies go,
Where-ever Tides can roll, or Winds can blow;
Their Sails within the Arctick Circle rise,
Led by the Stars that gild the Northern Skies;
Tempt frozen Seas, nor fear the driving Blast,
But swell exulting o'er the hoary Waste;
O'er the wide Ocean hold supreme Command,
And active Commerce spread thro' every Land;
Or with full Pride to Southern Regions run,
To distant Worlds, on t'other side the Sun;
And plow the Tides, where odorif'rous Gales
Perfume the smiling Waves, and stretch the bellying Sails.
Their Monarch's Fame to every distant Shore:
Swift on their Canvass Wings his Navies go,
Where-ever Tides can roll, or Winds can blow;
Their Sails within the Arctick Circle rise,
Led by the Stars that gild the Northern Skies;
Tempt frozen Seas, nor fear the driving Blast,
But swell exulting o'er the hoary Waste;
O'er the wide Ocean hold supreme Command,
And active Commerce spread thro' every Land;
Or with full Pride to Southern Regions run,
To distant Worlds, on t'other side the Sun;
And plow the Tides, where odorif'rous Gales
Perfume the smiling Waves, and stretch the bellying Sails.
165
See! the proud Merchant seek the precious Shore,
And trace the winding Veins of glitt'ring Ore;
Low in the Earth his wondring Eyes behold
Th'imperfect Metal rip'ning into Gold.
The Mountains tremble with alternate Rays,
And cast at once a Shadow and a Blaze:
Streak'd o'er with Gold, the Pebbles flame around,
Gleam o'er the Soil, and gild the tinkling Ground;
Charg'd with the glorious Prize, his Vessels come,
And in proud Triumph bring an India home.
And trace the winding Veins of glitt'ring Ore;
Low in the Earth his wondring Eyes behold
Th'imperfect Metal rip'ning into Gold.
The Mountains tremble with alternate Rays,
And cast at once a Shadow and a Blaze:
Streak'd o'er with Gold, the Pebbles flame around,
Gleam o'er the Soil, and gild the tinkling Ground;
Charg'd with the glorious Prize, his Vessels come,
And in proud Triumph bring an India home.
Fair Concord hail; thy Wings o'er Brunswick spread,
And with thy Olives crown his laurel'd Head.
Come; in thy most distinguish'd Charms appear;
Oh! come, and bolt the Iron-Gates of War.
The Fight stands still when Brunswick bids it cease,
The Monarch speaks, and gives the World a Peace;
Like awful Justice, sits superior Lord,
To poise the Ballance, or to draw the Sword;
In due suspence the jarring Realms to keep,
And hush the Tumults of the World to sleep.
And with thy Olives crown his laurel'd Head.
Come; in thy most distinguish'd Charms appear;
Oh! come, and bolt the Iron-Gates of War.
166
The Monarch speaks, and gives the World a Peace;
Like awful Justice, sits superior Lord,
To poise the Ballance, or to draw the Sword;
In due suspence the jarring Realms to keep,
And hush the Tumults of the World to sleep.
Now with a brighter Face, and nobler Ray
Shine forth, thou Source of Light, and God of Day;
Say, didst Thou ever in thy bright Career
Light up before a more distinguish'd Year?
Thro' all thy Journeys past thou canst not see
A perfect Image of what This shall be:
Scarce the Platonick Year shall this renew,
Or keep the bright Original in view.
Shine forth, thou Source of Light, and God of Day;
Say, didst Thou ever in thy bright Career
Light up before a more distinguish'd Year?
Thro' all thy Journeys past thou canst not see
A perfect Image of what This shall be:
Scarce the Platonick Year shall this renew,
Or keep the bright Original in view.
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